The Usual
by Pmrising
Summary: Rachel works at a café in uptown New York and in walks Quinn, the girl who smiles at only the gifted, looses all her bets and drinks until she's full. Combine these two extraordinary girls together and the conclusion will always be splendid. One-shot. Au.


**Gosh I really like writing short stories. Recently, (since college is out) i've been really into writing about personal experiences. And so i've been working at a cafe for quite sometime now. I'm meeting the strangest people, really, it's all a bit crazy. But i urge you to at least apply for a job in the food business. It's immensely rewarding. (im making bank)**

**Anyway enjoy**

* * *

**The Usual**

* * *

Don't think for a second that because Rachel Berry is the kind of girl who works at a Cafe, lives in the shittiest apartment in all of New York and enjoys going out back to smell cigarettes, doesn't mean she isn't going to be a star. In fact, due to her near perfect grades in NYADA, her relentless will towards perfection, and her recent musical pitch, Rachel Berry will probably be an incredibly successful person in the next two to three years. But she isn't now. She hasn't even tasted what an accomplished experience is like, let alone know the flavor. Her small, insignificant achievements never really let her enjoy the fresh feeling of victory. And it was all becoming a bit too feeble for her particular tastes.

Her smallness was effecting her, rapidly, at a pace so quick and demanding she always needed to get away once and a while. Day after day, it all feels a bit dull, a bit dragged out and teeming with boredom. But for that, that only day, while taking an order at a seemingly normal table for two, does Rachel's life change, almost drastically.

She pulls up to the table, same regiment as before. Rachel flashes a grin, locks eyes with every person- but wait. Her eyes linger, just for a moment longer, at probably a model. Well she must be a model, because she's thin, her cheekbones are magnificent and those eyes can only be related to someone special.

"I'll have coffee," The boy says. He's incredible looking too. His chiseled jaw, sharp eyes, hair pulled back into a small little pony. For all Rachel could have known these two people were the perfect couple out on a date. Two seemingly perfect people, on a date, in the crummiest, smallest café in all of New York, located underground. The place was so underrated it didn't even have a sign, which explained all the empty tables, except one.

The girl continues to gaze at Rachel, as if trying to figure her out, or maybe learn her life story through the golden, perspiration set, skin. Her foot is kicked, after moments of silent wonderment and she takes a quick gulp and nods frantically at the table, muttering about a coffee and some milk.

Even shy, and embarrassed, does the girl look even more beautiful. And that's what Rachel first learns about Quinn Fabray: She was always better covered in blush.

She comes back with coffee and the conversation kicks off almost immediately. Suddenly she's hovering over the table, laughing at the boy's nonsense, their order was cooking in the kitchen, and Rachel had no costumers, so she sits.

"Why do you work here?" The boy, of whom she found out his name – Sam Evans – laughs softly, he's gazing at her with these eyes that she can only describe as _attentive_. Through detailed recognition of his movements, Rachel noticed that whatever Sam did, he did with his full attention. While sipping coffee his eyes would close, and his lips would swirl around his mouth, as if really enjoying and remembering the flavor after every sip. "I mean-" he looks around, turning his back this way and that, "You're way too good looking for this place."

Rachel's cheeks darken at the obvious flirting, and she ducks shyly at the table, nervous to glance at the girl across from her who hadn't sipped her coffee yet. She felt a bit wrong to take Sam's compliment so happily, especially a compliment given out in front of his own girlfriend. Before Rachel could open her mouth to at least justify her obvious interest, Sam perks up, "Right Q?"

Then they lock eyes once again.

It feels like a little shock whenever they relate to each other some how. As if the attraction is breathtakingly unnerving. Rachel tugs at her lower lip, while watching the girl shuffle in her seat, fix her hair teasingly and offer Sam a small shrug and then continue to stare off into the distance.

Sam just grins at his girlfriend's obvious blush and then pushes his gaze to Rachel again, "I mean, this place is completely empty too. Why even work here?"

Rachel tries to block out Q's shy smile with a slight throat clear, then she speaks smoothly, "It's empty now. Believe it or not, it's incredibly busy when the college, a few blocks down, is out."

"Oh so you have to serve college students?" Sam blows a raspberry, jabbing his thumb downwards, and then shuffles back into a low chuckle. He sips his coffee, and then eyes the girl across from them, the beautiful shy thing who still hasn't said a word the entire time. "Quinn actually goes to a college nearby."

"Oh." She shifts her gaze to – Quinn – "You attend NYU?"

She shrugs tiredly, finally taking a sip out of her, probably lukewarm, coffee. Then, Rachel catches it for a quick second; Quinn takes a nervous ragged glance at Sam with these fearful, almost terrified, eyes.

"Where do you go?" Sam asks, almost immediately towards Rachel. A smile is plastered on his face in impeccable time.

Rachel shifts in her seat a bit, giving the boy some more eye view, "How did you know I go to college?" Her one eyebrow rises in a challenge; one arm is hooked on the booth's frame, keeping her sitting sideways.

He shrugs, sipping his coffee, "You seem smart."

She laughs, playing with the tips of her bangs. Rachel looks back at the kitchen doors, waiting for some sort of bell to ring, indicating the food is ready. "NYADA." She finally announces proudly.

The boy grins in his cup, "Really?"

"I'm in a singing major actually." She shuffles in her spot, "I want to be-"

"On Broadway."

She didn't hear it so well the first time. Really, neither Sam nor Rachel did. But it was spoken. It was said so softly, so nimbly, with this quiet, defensive voice, that Rachel had to actually lean across the table to get a better earful. She replied '_excuse me?_' And then Quinn sipped her coffee vigorously, curled her hand under her chin, peered into her waitress' eyes and said, "I think our food is ready." Just as the bell chimed wonderfully in the distance.

It was such an incredible scene, almost as if in slow motion. The way Quinn moved was graceful, acentric and almost like a well-oiled machine. Even with those slender pale fingers, tipping her chin lightly, even the movement of it all, sent a silent chill running down Rachel's spine. Quinn was just intriguing to watch. And after moments of silence, watching each other pleasantly, the bell chimed again, a bit harsher than usual.

Rachel rose quickly, slamming her thigh against the table and trying to calm the coffee cups' rattling with two shaky hands. She says a muttered sorry and gives a weak smile to the boy and girl before jetting off into the kitchen. Once she's back with their food, she has another table. She takes their order, settles them in, and returns to Sam and Quinn with the obvious thought that had been boggling her mind the entire time working-

"I thought you were a model." She says to the table seriously, almost a bit angrily. A bit upset she had gotten her accusation wrong. They all knew she was talking to Quinn. Who else at their table had the potential to be a model? To be anything but known as beautiful. "Because if your not you really should be-" she stacks their plates briefly, never looking up from the coffee cups, eyes set downwards, never glancing up, "Your really beautiful, really."

And then she finally takes a peek, to see once a pale, but now a red, Quinn. Sliding off into her booth's corner, with a look of absolute abomination written across her features, the beautiful girl could have slithered away if she wanted to. She was shaking, shuddering. A thick gulp is taken, and then a slow blink. Once those green eyes open they're set on Sam, with this terrified, humiliated expression, but before Sam could even open his mouth, Rachel has already covered the floor, "I'm so sorry if I offended you, Quinn. I really didn't mean it in a bad way." She gulps, suddenly so incredibly nervous, "I'm not making fun of you. If that's what you think." The plates are heavy in her hands, suddenly, like she's holding ten plates instead of two.

Sam gives a nervous chuckle, giving Quinn a watchful eye, "It's fine."

Rachel doesn't even hear his reply, because she's already in the kitchen, throwing their plates into the sink and slamming her palms into her eyes roughly. She doesn't approach their table for a while, because the couple seems to be talking, rapidly, arms flying and mouths chattering. Rachel wondered if they're talking, in hushed angry voices, about her. And then she wishes Quinn would talk, with such enthusiasm and animation, towards her. She wishes, bravely, that they could fight. Or that they could hug. Or maybe even kiss on the cheek.

Once a few of her tables clear out, she checks to see if the couple is still talking. And yet again, they sit there, whispering harshly at each other. Once in a while, one of them would cross their arms and shift away, the other glaring at whatever thing they could focus on. Rachel couldn't help but think their arguments were all her fault, and that's why she was walking over to the table, practically strutting, hiding her embarrassment with this expressionless mask.

"Would you like more coffee?" Her voice comes out sharp, but weak at the end. Practically muttering the last part of her sentence away, it all seemed a waste.

Sam huffed, cracking a fake, weary smile, "Yes please. We'll be here for while."

Quinn just shares him an unforgiving glare, pushing her coffee cup to the far off edge of the table, never giving Rachel a glance. "Split the check." They both watch her wrestle for her purse, deep in the confides of her booth's cushions, indicating it was her time to go.

Sam chokes a laugh, "You're kidding me Q." He tosses Rachel an eye, "Can you believe this girl? You give her a compliment and she-"

"Sam."

Rachel even jumps at the roughness of Quinn's voice. The way it boomed out of such a body, so elegant and lathered with refinery. The voice seemed almost desperate, pleadingly frustrated.

"I'm sorry for what I said-" Rachel says quickly, eyes shut, as if pulling a band-aid off audibly, "Quinn."

And then they lock eyes. For a brief second in their dismissive behavior, it almost seems fitting to just stare at each other in wonderment and disbelief.

The girl shakes her head lightly, turning back to face her purse, "I just have somewhere to be."

"Just give us _one_ check." Sam says, defeated. He slouches in his booth and rustles in his pockets for some cash. Rachel nods, and moves away before watching him throw a few singles on the table.

After catering to a few tables, she comes back to the couple, slips them the check and instantly Quinn is up, shuffling out of the booth, giving Rachel a quick look of abnormality before climbing up out of the café. She watches those boots shuffle up the stairs, and then her wrist is grabbed, a 20 handed shamelessly into her open palm.

"Oh- Sam-"

"It's fine." He says with a slight laugh, "She's tough to handle."

Rachel just stares at the money, "She really is beautiful." And then she gives Sam this embarrassed glance. Realizing what she let slip out, she modestly replies, "I'm-"

"You can picture her in a magazine too, cant you?" He says with such depth, his eyes covering the booths and table for anything left behind. Sam seemed incredibly sweet in those few moments of silence, the soft jazz playing over their heads, his eyes gleaming with love for his more than spontaneous girlfriend. Rachel's been staring at him for so long she averts her gaze quickly when he pulls his up, "She's usually more well behaved too. Her mind has been somewhere else lately."

Rachel just cracks a grin, shoving the money deep in her pockets, "She does seem like a handful. But you're lucky to have her."

Sam gives a curious glance, "Well sometimes I could do_ without_ her." He grins.

Rachel gives a laugh, "Oh come on you love her."

"I do." He bits his lip and then twists the wrist his hand had been holding the entire time, gently. Pulling out the pen tucked away in her apron, very simply, frailly, he begins to write a series of numbers on Rachel's skin, just over the veins on her over turned arm, "Give us a call sometime."

"Oh. Well-" Rachel gulps, "I'm sure you're girlfriend _would_ mind if I called you."

"It's not my number," And then Sam pulls back, grins happily and pats Rachel's back before jogging behind her to the stairs. He's halfway up before he turns, his head peeking from the doorway, "Quinn is actually single." He says with a quick almost sad smile.

Rachel watches his shoes disappear. And quite frankly she's incredibly relieved to be rid of that ridiculousness. Though her second accusation was wrong about the odd pair, she certainly did have one thing right: They were both _way_ too good looking to be eating at such a dump of a café. She scans her wrist once more, the letters were, as if golden, scrawled across her wrist like a scar. Palming the number gently, she reads them silently in her head and scurries off to another table, coffee pot in hand.

She thinks about Quinn all day. How Quinn knew about her goal in being on Broadway. The color of Quinn's eyes. The girl's toothy, all grin, shy smile. How beautiful she looks when she's blushing.

While finishing up her shift by cutting up some lemons and then washing her hands, Rachel figures that it was a once in a lifetime meeting as she silently scrubs at the numbers on her wrist. She wonders whose number Sam actually wrote down. And she blushes at the thought of having something, remotely, related to Quinn, on her.

* * *

The second time she sees Quinn, her handsome body double isn't with her, and Rachel sweats immediately. She's sitting in the corner booth, away from the closer tables directed near the door, her features hidden away magnificently. Rachel cant help but wonder why the girl decided to sit so far away from the exit, crouching low to her table as if on a stake out.

"Hey you," she says pleasantly, eyeing Quinn with interest.

The girl pulls down the scarf around her mouth, nicks it over her head and gives Rachel an anything but feminine nod. Her shoulders are up to her ears, teeth chattering, hands rubbing themselves to keep warm, and she says politely, "Just what I had last time."

"It was coffee right?" Rachel says walking slowly to the counter, across from the table.

Quinn flashes her a grin, "And?" She leans over the table, hand curling under her cheek, bidding the world with this little smirk.

Her voice has this playful tone to it and all Rachel can do is stand there, coffee pot in hand, hovering over a mug, fluttering her eyes towards her only costumer with this look of absolute astonishment. She couldn't even imagine what Quinn's smile looked like when given with purpose, not just shyly thrown about. It was beautiful, disgracefully beautiful even. And when she was not a quiet little uppity thing, Quinn was discreetly entertaining.

"Milk." Rachel slurs out softly, going over to pour some.

Quinn's eyeing her silverware the entire time, shifting it this way and that, directing it beside her, before her, around her. It was a bit silly to see such a girl, fiddling with her fork and knife like play toys, but oddly soothing. Rachel places the cup and milk down, gives Quinn a grin and then pulls out her notepad.

"You forgot what I ordered?"

She nods, "I think it was-"

"I'm not telling you." Quinn mutters teasingly, pouring some milk into her coffee. She's still smiling.

"What?"

Blowing a cool breath on the rise of her drink, glancing at Rachel as she does so, she replies, "You'll have to guess."

Rachel shifts in her spot, smiling wildly, "And what if I get it wrong?"

A sip. "I'll never come back here again."

The words are sharp, fast. Rachel barely catches them. And once they're released she lets out a dry nervous chuckle. But the look on Quinn's face is incredibly serious. It was painfully focused, now on the waitress, standing nervously with acknowledgment. Rachel can't help but feel like Quinn was telling the truth, so she asks, "Can Sam still come?"

Quinn's eyelashes flutter, "No."

"So this order depends on the future of this relationship?"

Quinn's cheeks grow warm. She tugs off her gloves, pulls off her jacket roughly, and shoves everything in the corner of her booth. After roughing up her hair she gives Rachel this calm grin, "Precisely."

The waitress smiles, jotting down some notes into her pocketbook. She's taking a few glances, this way and that way, eyeing the girl for all its worth. And then she's putting in an order than may or may not be correct.

"I hope your right," Quinn mutters into her coffee.

"Me too."

And then they stare at each other, wondering wildly about the other in this sense of interest. Their attachment must have been obvious to the both of them, because whenever Rachel catches a glimpse of those beautiful features her heart melts, and whenever Quinn gives her a glance, she grips her coffee cup just a bit tighter. They both seem as if they're on the verge of words, but whenever they open their mouths, hot air is the only thing pouring out. Honestly, they would be comfortable just staring at each other all day. Quinn would happily give Rachel a tip just to look at her.

"So you go to NYU?"

Quinn stiffens from the sudden words, she nods, "I study advertisement." Then a shrug, "It's fun."

"You don't seem like the type to study art." Rachel eyes the booth, and once Quinn gives her a gentle nod, she takes a seat, perched at the edge with one foot dangling out. She has a perfect view of the door. So once a costumer comes by she'll be ready to take action.

"What type of girl do you take me for?"

"Not the type to come into such a shitty café." Rachel chuckles.

Quinn ducks her head, "Everyone at NYU loves this place." She searches Rachel's face once the girl pulls her gaze to the door, "When most of the classes are out, everyone just comes here."

"You think I don't know that," Rachel grins, once she shifts her gaze Quinn drops hers, they stay silent for a moment longer and then, "How did you know I wanted to be on Broadway?"

She can see Quinn blanch before her, almost uncomfortably sickened by the idea of yesterday. The girl palms her coffee, adds more milk, takes a sip and then takes a little breath, "A hunch."

Rachel doesn't press into the matter more, due to the girl's reaction. But it certainly does raise some red flags. "So you and Sam…" she starts off, not really knowing where she's going. She just wants to hear Quinn talk. She didn't even catch her voice the last time they met, which was well over a week ago. And now it felt like talking to Quinn was too much to swallow all at once. It was hard to imagine Quinn talking a week ago, let alone a day ago. But nevertheless, Rachel's wild fantasies, of a deep conversation between the two girls, plays out wonderfully in reality. It was a bit perfect.

Quinn gives the girl a questioning gaze, and then snaps, "Oh gosh no. Me and Sam-" She chuckles wearily, "Friends. Just friends." Rachel watches her toy with her silverware again, then she checks the door once more, "I actually have my eye on someone."

A grin, "Are they in your classes?"

She sips her coffee, lips pressed into a thin line, "No." And then she's just peering into her cup, urging Rachel to pour some more. The girl notices this, nods and runs to get the coffee pot.

Suddenly, as if planned, the doorbell chimes from up the stairs, and two students, seemingly from Quinn's class come down. Once the girl catches a small glimpse of the two familiar boys she ducks in her booth immediately. Squeezing her eyes shut and praying to God that they don't sit anywhere near her, they coolly walk over to her booth and then approach the table beside her, laughing about something softly, before-

"Quinn!"

The girl jumps in her seat, then her eyes are wide, searching for the boys with vigor, "Puck." She peers at the other boy, "Mike."

They walk up to her slyly, leaving their pulled out chairs to rest far away from their own table. "Haven't seen you in pitch class for a while," Puck grins, he always did have a way with familiarity. And even for a girl like Quinn, that trait was incredibly attractive and hard to come by. His grin was boyishly charming, and for some odd reason she could never remove her eyes from his lips.

She shrugs, "I've been busy."

"Didn't know you come here either," Mike says at the girl before bumping Puck's shoulder lightly, laughing about something. Then a strong hand is pushed towards his gut and both boys smile towards Quinn with these almost reflective gazes.

"I-"

"Here's some more coffee Quinn," Rachel comes in from between the boys, her hand steady over the cup as she pours some more drink.

The blond just tries to keep calm. Cool and collectively she thanks Rachel and hopes the boys will walk away when she takes a sip. But to her dismay, the only person walking away from her table is Rachel.

"Can I get you guys something to drink?" She asks from the counter, ducking down to pull out some mugs.

The boys crash at Quinn's booth. Puck's legs are so long they're touching knees underneath the table and Mike is next to him with nothing but pure admiration in his eyes. "Coffee," one of them calls out, and Rachel nodes friskily, walking over with a tray.

Quinn watches the girl handle herself with grace, dipping low to reveal- her bra, two succulent mounds of-

"So Quinn…"

The girl shifts her gaze to Puck, hands gripping her coffee so tightly she can barely feel her fingers.

"You know about that party tonight right?"

The blond clears her throat, nods, and checks to see if Rachel was gone. She's searching the entire café now, looking around for the small little brunette. Then a hand is on hers and she pulls away stiffly to find Puck giving her this weird hazy gaze.

"We should ride together."

She's rubbing her lips together, her eyes rack over the place once more, not even knowing where to begin with the answer to that question. Suddenly Sam is beside the table with-

"Oh God," Quinn mutters, sipping her coffee quickly and pulling her gaze away. Which meant locking eyes with Mike foolishly.

"Hey Q."

"Move over," Santana demands.

"Hello to you too," Quinn deadpans while shifting over and sitting on her jacket and scarf. Her coffee cup is pushed away excellently, and now her hands rest on the table's surface, pale fingers crinkling into fists. She's suddenly incredibly stiff, her back straight, eyes closing slowly as she listens to Mike and Puck ramble on about the party and asking if Santana and Sam are going. And suddenly, she couldn't possible care any_ less_ about the party, or her classes or any of the people sitting around her.

Wasn't it so obvious that she would much rather sit here alone and talk to the only person she's been wanting to-

"Rachel," Sam says happily, he has a grin on his face but his eyes are towards Quinn in a second, "You ordered already?"

"It's for Quinn," Puck answered with his face deep in a mug.

"Your all from NYU?" Rachel asks, before settling down Quinn's food carefully. And then a smile cracks out in impeccable time, the food was correct.

No one even answers Rachel's question; not even the waitress herself cared, because everyone was staring at the widest smile they had ever seen on Quinn's face.

"Calm down there toothy," Santana tries to duck, in order to get a better look at the gleaming grin, "Its just food."

"I haven't seen Quinn smile like that in a while," Sam whispers to Puck, who then whispers to Mike about never having seen Quinn smile at _all._

Rachel is incredibly pleased with her work, she places both hands on her hips and smiles, "I'll be looking forward to more visits Quinn," is all she says.

And the blond looks up from her plate, as if out of a trance, all eyes on her. She gulps, blanches and then reaches for the booth's back railing. She grips it tightly, climbs onto the other seats and mutters something about a bathroom. Rachel stutters a bit, directs her and then everyone watches her leave quickly.

Santana speaks first, "Well that wasn't sketchy as fuck."

"Maybe she doesn't feel well," Puck, replies, sipping his coffee.

"With a smile like that?" Sam turns in his seat, to watch the girl's bathroom door close tightly, "I really doubt it."

"Quinn doesn't smile a lot?" Rachel questions, pulling out her notepad in the process of scanning everyone's reactions.

"I'll have some hot tea," Santana takes a swig of Mike's coffee, "And no. She cracks a grin that wide on a full moon."

"Well I might be the cause of that. We both had a little arrangement," Rachel concludes, "If I got her order right from the other day, she can continue gracing this café with her presence." She's jotting down some notes while talking, an excellent skill she picked up on the job.

"Quinn does love bets," Mike mutters while grinning at Puck instantly, "That's why she has short hair. _Right Sam_?"

There's an odd break of silence until Santana breaks out into a laugh. She's clapping and nodding furiously while Sam joins in on the laughter as he tugs Rachel's shirt slightly, asking her for a coffee past his deep chuckles. Their waitress goes to the counter for some mugs while they continue their talk, all backs turned to face her.

"At one of Puck's parties-"

"We were all at Puck's for some poker, some fun, you know," Santana interrupts, taking a bite out of Quinn's food quickly, she chews, "Then Quinn, completely plastered, says that if Puck wins, she'll go out with him and if Sam wins he'll have to cut her hair."

Everyone shares a glance, and they all burst out laughing. Puck has his arms folded, uninterested, and Mike is dry heaving. Rachel watches the table with interest, a small smile on her lips as she brings two mugs over. Then her sleeve is grabbed, "Notice Puck is single." Sam says softly, and the table bursts out again.

Rachel chuckles wearily, pouring the coffee and placing the hot tea down. The entire table is now rattling from their laughter, and she turns back to check on the bathroom door, still closed, before stifling a giggle. Puck isn't having any of it though. He seems against the whole topic, sipping his coffee uncomfortably while trying to pull this fake, ugly smile.

"How short did you cut it?" Rachel asks, trying to keep all eyes off of the noticeably miserable boy.

Sam pulls back into his seat, holding his stomach with a heaving sigh, "Short."

Santana chuckles, taking another bite of Quinn's food, "She looked like a dyke."

"She looked gayer than Santana," Puck muttered, smiling, "And that's saying something."

The boy received a sharp kick in the shins, and he crouched down in pain. Mike just chuckled and patted his back soothingly, before taking a sip of his now empty mug. Rachel poured him another cup and scanned the bathroom door once more, "I'll check on her." She said to no one in particular.

Sam flippantly waves his hand through the air and Santana mutters something. The entire table breaks out again just as Rachel knocks on the door.

"Quinn?" She knocks again, "Are you okay?"

She heard the click of a lock and the door is slowly opened. There she sees Quinn, in all her glory, hiding behind the bright red door. Her eyes aren't glassy so she hasn't been crying, but her smile is gone, which makes Rachel want to shrivel. She looks simply adorable, held up inside of the bathroom with the door cracked just slightly. Rachel can make out one hazel eye, a little bit of her small nose and some neat tidy blond hair.

"They told you Puck's party story didn't they?"

Rachel cracks a grin, happy that Quinn isn't too distraught from her untimely exit, "They did."

They both lock eyes, biting lips furiously, the door is cracked a bit more, but nothing, not even the laughter from the only occupied table in the café, can distract the girls from each other's lingering gaze. Rachel takes a quick glance at the table, and then checks back with Quinn, her face in plain sight, beautiful and complexly emotive.

"I like it though," she mutters finally, "You look good with short hair."

Quinn chuckles, "You don't even know what I looked like with _long_ hair."

Rachel stifles a mimicked reply, and then she shrugs, toying with her apron string loosely, "I think you'd look good with anything." And then her eyes glance up, just barely, the door is a bit more open now, she can see Quinn's shirt.

The girl blushes furiously, looking anywhere else but Rachel as she scans the table full of her friends, all bickering and madly laughing. With her smile still intact, she starts, "When you said I should be a model-" She stutters briefly, gulping, "I forgot to thank you. That was the best compliment I ever received I think."

"It's true." Rachel hushes, glancing back at the table of laughter. So they couldn't hear her, she whispers, "You're a very pretty girl Quinn. Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

And the look on Quinn's face couldn't be any more priceless. She seems, nerve rackingly, embarrassed. Completely, happily, humiliated. The blush on her cheeks is out in the open now, revealing itself to the café's lights. The door is tilted just a bit more so that both girls are standing, facing one another, pulling out shared expressions of comfort. Rachel, past her blurry, hazy vision, suddenly realizes how tall Quinn is, she reaches up to her neck in height, and that only makes her heart flutter more. It's almost perfect.

"Why haven't you called me?" Quinn mutters out quietly, desperately. Her voice sounded dreadful and whiney, suddenly. And she whispered so quietly she could have just mouthed the words. But since both girls stood so unbelievably close, Rachel heard her perfectly. Quinn then tries to calm down, its obvious through her flaring nostrils and deep calming sighs. She stands up a bit straighter, expression changing to something dreadfully dull. "Sam told me- Sam gave you my number."

Rachel wracks her brain on some sort of excuse, but then she just decides to tell the truth. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she replies firmly.

It was honesty. Something Quinn didn't get very often. It excited her, enthralled her even. Rachel was telling the absolute truth, her eyes fierce and humane as she did so.

"You'll see me again," Quinn finally says.

And then she grins, the same grin from when she was staring at her food only moments ago. It's wide, and toothy and positively outrageous. Rachel copies it right away, and both girls stare at each other, through a cracked door, with shared looks of absolute admiration.

And just like that. Rachel's world changes, absolutely, drastically.

* * *

Frankly, Rachel was always confused around Quinn's friends. They would all come in at random, unparticular times, in usually pairs of two or three. They'd ask for Rachel, personally, because they enjoyed her light humor and the smile on her face. Well, honestly, she would have _loved_ to believe they enjoyed her company, but she knew they did it to show off, telling story after story of their long college filled adventures. They seemed to grow quite fond of Rachel's reactions to their many various tales. Like the numerous bets Quinn places and loses. Puck's weird fascination with babies. And Sam's incredible addiction for drawing crude penises on every bathroom stall, now including the cafe he's been visiting almost everyday.

She'd seat them in a particular booth though, by the end of the café, across from the counter. They found it was easier for her to get them coffee and food if they sat there, and Rachel realized that Quinn had better access to her ogling, which she didn't mind one bit. Their group would crowd around the table, covering it with coffee outlines, used sugar packets, tipped over salts, once an small empty bottle of whiskey, and most frequently, food.

But the thing Rachel noticed about Sam and Quinn's friends though was that they were all beautiful. Even Puck, with the creative Mohawk at the top of his scalp, has a charming bad boy feature placed in those smoldering eyes. It was all a bit new to her, being surrounded, now daily, by such incredible people. But the most corrupting, yet civil one, out of all of Quinn's friends, was Santana Lopez. The girl with the knives in her hair, a sharp glint in her eye and the affirmation of being raised in Lima Heights, or whatever that really meant.

"Listen," Santana mutters out coolly. She wasn't with Brittany, which was a shocker. By now, after three months of this incredible attention, Rachel realized that Santana was always with Brittany, so it was strange to see them separated. And a Santana without a Brittany always meant trouble, one way or another. "We like you."

"I'm guessing your not here to order," Rachel mutters, shoving the notepad in her apron pocket and glancing back up at the fiery girl. She leaned over the counter, eyes scanning that annoyed expression before her, "We?"

"You know," Santana waves her hand around, fluttering her eyes as she did so, "Everyone. We all like you."

"I believe I know this already."

"Well," She clacks her nails on the counter, thinking, "Quinn likes you. And if Quinn likes you, I _have_ to like you."

Rachel ducks down, a light blush on her cheeks from that sudden announcement. Knowing that Quinn likes her fills her head with all sorts of fantasies and spectrums of wild assumptions. She basks in the glory of her newfound happiness in only the few mere seconds of silence before Santana starts talking again, this time with an added eye roll in the beginning.

"So we want you to hang out with us tonight," She tilts her chin up with a tough fist, elbow leaning on the counter and butt pushed back for all to see. Rachel moves her vision past the Latina to watch some boys divulging in the view before them, eyes wide and jaws practically hanging. "We're going on our seasonal pub crawl."

"Pub crawl?"

Santana watches Rachel's gaze of confusion with absolute devastation on her face. "You don't know what a pub crawl is? You've never done a NYC pub crawl?" The girl almost seemed offended, annoyingly upset at the accusation. "You're kidding me right?"

Rachel waves both hands in the air, as if being arrested, and then shakes her head sporadically, "No, no. I've certainly been on a pub crawl." She ducks her head, to maybe peer at her shoes or check if her pen is still snug in her apron, "I just haven't been on one in a while."

"Oh." Santana stiffens, her back straight and eyes attentive, "Well we always go on a pub crawl every time a holiday passes by…"

"…And Christmas is coming up…" Rachel mumbles out.

"_And _Christmas is coming up so we all decided to invite our plucky little waitress friend to go get fucked with us." Santana deadpans, leaning forwards quickly, to maybe get her point across with a vicious smirk on her face.

"Plucky little- Hey wait!" Rachel runs around the counter, walking behind Santana quickly. They both swerve and dodge tables and chairs before making it to the stairs, racked with snow and boot stains. It is there, at the bottom step, that Rachel stops her assault, and it is there at the top, that Santana stops hers. She turns pleasantly, the door cracked open just a bit, to blow out a cold wintery chill.

"I'll pick you up sometime tonight." She says, and for a second Santana could almost look like some sort of angel, honestly. Her entire body is outlined with a gold light, peeking out from behind the front café door. She looked heavenly and hypocritical. As if an angel would ever invite someone out for a pub-crawl, it all made Rachel chuckle lightly. And in the midst of these thoughts, she suddenly registers what Santana just said in her head.

"Wait what?"

Rachel shouts, but the girl is already gone, leaving a closed door in her wake. Leaning out over the stairs, to maybe project her voice a bit less hesitantly, Rachel was sure Santana heard. She knew the girl heard her in the last seconds of silence. But it didn't make much of a difference anyway. Rachel looks at the walls, leading up to the closed door, some posters of rock bands, papers with phone numbers on them, they all look so cluttered and filthy, so she decides to clean them all off and start fresh.

It's at midnight when Santana comes by. She's sporting this annoyed expression, two hands stuffed roughly into her coat pockets. Rachel can already sense the eyes on her back as she closes up the café and clicks the lock shut. She turns to show a small grin, eyes a bit tired.

"You actually came." She says a bit stiffly, due to the cold and snow.

Santana just shrugs, "They all really like you."

Rachel stands there in the dark. Her hair is messy, her clothing smells, her apron stained, and Santana wants to go pub-crawling. "It's sweet." She takes a quick jab at the door, pulling the handle to make sure it's secured, "But I think I'm going to skip the pub crawl." She nods lightly, taking a few seconds to maintain the awkward eye contact. "Goodnight."

Rachel doesn't smile when she begins to leave Santana shivering under the city lights. People pass the girl by quickly. After the first few bodies, and after the first few seconds of watching Rachel walk away, ducking and shuddering with the winter chill, it is then she begins to run. The Latina, for the life of her, didn't know why she was sprinting with heels on. But she was. Very steadily she grabs Rachel's jacket, turns her around and locks eyes with her for a moments time. She's gasping for air, and after a gulp she begins to speak, "I don't know why I'm friends with Quinn." She ducks her head, blows out some white puffs of air, "Frankly, she's a moron. I mean betting against Sam? How stupid can the girl be?"

Rachel is confused and cold, but nevertheless she stands there and watches, whom she though to be a very put together sort of girl, unraveled herself.

"But maybe she wanted Sam to cut her hair you know?" Santana heaves a small chuckle, "I think she just needed an excuse to do it. Really I do."

"Okay," The waitress just cracks a small, weary, smile. But she's still cold and she still wants to go home, "The offer is nice Santana, but really i-"

"It's the same principal though," she interrupts, "She wants you to come, so that's why she planted the idea of it in my head."

Rachel tips her head forwards, "You _personally _want me to go?"

Santana smiles tiredly, finally her breathing evens out, "_We_ all like you."

The girls smile at each other.

Then a taxi is hailed and they're on their way. The whole time, while driving relentlessly through the city, Santana is getting phone call after phone call from, what Rachel thinks are, friends. The whole car ride is just some Indian music and Santana's chuckles and slight pitchy tone. Rachel can't help but wonder about Quinn and how she wants Rachel at the pub-crawl tonight and how everyone likes her and how horribly_ terrifying_ it all is.

"Bitches!" Santana screams, her hands in the air for a quick second before wrapped them around Quinn and Brittany in a feverish high. They're all jumping, giddy, and Rachel is standing by the side of the pub with her apron wringing in her grip, merely out of nerves.

"Oh hey it's our waitress." Brittany exclaims, pointing behind Santana. She waves, "Hi waitress! Fancy meeting you here."

"Her name is Rachel," Quinn replies calmly, her smile eager and pleased. "Rachel Berry."

And she was sure her life was complete. Hearing Quinn say her name, with such a pleased expression on her face, would allow Rachel to die happy.

"And this isn't a coincidence Britts," Santana mumbles, she turns to see Rachel, still standing stiff as a log but with an endearing smile on her lips, "I brought her here."

All three girls stare at Rachel for a moment. Snow falling all around them, breaths of white air milling about.

"Santana said you wanted me to come," she finally speaks, stepping forwards, directing her gaze to Quinn. There's a certain chill in the air, and it surprisingly, isn't from the snow. Deep, striking them in the back is this little shudder. It could be excitement, or maybe just nerves.

"You could say that." Quinn mutters, cracking a shy grin at the ground.

"Girls get inside, it's fucking cold." Sam shouts from out of the pub door. He's already drunk, "We're going to the next pub in like-"

"Two minutes!" Puck cries out from inside the pub just as the door shuts his voice out quickly.

"Rachel!" Sam shouts, his arms are open wide and his front button is undone but he looks as graceful as ever. His smile is the same, wide and unwavering, and his hugs are warm with all the shots in his system, "Rachel you came."

She smiles in his grasp but before she can even open her mouth she's already in the pub. In all her 21 years of living, Rachel had never experienced time to fly by as quickly as it did that night. And honestly, it was the fastest 4 hours of her life. They went through each pub like it was nothing, every door they kicked open, every shot they took down without a care in the world, the less Rachel began to regret coming out. At one point in the night, Puck was vomiting over the counter; Sam was dirty dancing with a lamp- She doesn't even want to think about Brittany and Santana, the girls relentlessly fucking in every pub bathroom without a second thought. So while every one of Quinn's friends seemed preoccupied, it left Rachel to be plucked up by the girl herself and spun out into the wintery night, drunk and as hazy as ever before.

"Sam is so drunk," Quinn laughs out; she's holding Rachel up with her two arms.

"He is so drunk."

"Puck…" Both girls lean against the pub building, smiling and giddy. "Puck has_ such_ a crush on me." Quinn confesses with this hissing laughter.

Rachel slaps the girl's arm without looking. Her eyes are currently focused on the lamp light above them, golden and shimmering. "I thought I was the only one to notice."

Quinn swallows hoarsely, but there's still this grin on her face. Rachel doesn't watch her pull the cigarettes from her pocket, but she knows Quinn smokes. She knows because Quinn always smelt like cigarettes when they hugged. Even a smoker, the girl maintained a pristine lifestyle, and the very thought made Rachel grin warmly. "He wants to fuck me." Quinn mutters due to the cigarette clutched in her lips, barely lit.

"Who Puck?" Rachel grins, searches Quinn's nod and then eyes the girl hard, "Everyone does."

And then silence. Pure wintery silence. Suddenly, the city never seemed so quiet. It was as if the cars all stopped their honking, the bar's music stopped it's steady thumping, the snow began its falling and Quinn gave Rachel a gaze of pure interest past her cigarette.

"Do you want to fuck me?" she asks carefully, smile still plastered. Her eyes move slightly to the girl beside her, covered in specks of white. Her uniform now disheveled and slightly dirtied.

"I do."

"You're gay?"

"No," Rachel hacks a chuckle, "But Christ If your hot, I'm gonna like you, y'know?"

Quinn nods, "Okay." And then she's staring at her shoes, "Okay."

Rachel was sure she saw Quinn pull a bit of a sad smile, or maybe this sort of lingering equally saddened gaze. Her hands were clenched tightly, and her hair was a little blond mess. They hugged, suddenly, in the snow. The soft warmth of their bodies supplied the proper comfort to endure the bone chilling cold. And they stayed like that, hugging drunkenly outside of a pub, before everyone was kicked out and they all decided to hail a cab or walk home.

The cab ride was steamy. Mainly because Rachel and Quinn were piled into the corner of the backseat, practically eye fucking each other like wild animals. Every time the car would hit a bump both girls would jolt into each other, and they swore nothing has ever felt any better.

Once at NYU Quinn decided to walk Rachel home, sober up, maybe kiss. They didn't hold hands when they walked, they barely spoke, really. It wasn't until they reached Rachel's small apartment, that Quinn gave Rachel a small withering little kiss on the cheek. It was there, in the snow-covered city, that Rachel felt that maybe love was real. She tugged on Quinn's scarf playfully, laughed a bit and then watched the blond walk away.

That was the last she saw of Quinn Fabray before a whole month passed by.

* * *

Rachel didn't see Quinn for a few weeks after their pub crawling adventure. None of her friends came in and service was picking up so quickly that really Rachel didn't even have a second thought about it all. The days passed by like a rush. It was all so blurry and hazy until suddenly it was the New Years. And while cheering with a few of her friends at a bar, Rachel wondered what Quinn was doing and where she was celebrating.

And then she saw her.

"Quinn!"

The blond turned and her face erupted in a look of curiosity, "Rachel."

"Happy New Ye-" Then a finger, a pale slender little thing, is pressed close to those whiskey tinted lips of hers. Rachel frowned suddenly and pulled back.

"You can't say it yet," Quinn pointed to the TV over the bar, "Not until the ball drops."

Rachel nods, licking her lips as she does so, "Where is everyone?"

"Everyone?" The girl clicks into place suddenly, her eyes trained past the girl's face and looking somewhere off into the distance, "Oh!" She leans against the counter, "I don't know."

"You-" Rachel chuckles, confusion wrapped in her throat, "You don't know?"

"Me and Puck don't really hang out with them anymore."

"You and_ Puck_?" She can't help but stutter.

Rachel watches the girl take a swig of her beer. She's different, somehow. Not as graceful, a bit jerky and unclear. Quinn wasn't drunk, no not even close to it. She just seemed lost, quite frankly. The typical look of someone without a goal was the very definition of Quinn Fabray, and it made Rachel's stomach flip.

"

It's dropping!" Quinn hushes out, driving her attention to the television.

Rachel doesn't stare at the ball though. No her focus is more lead to Quinn, who's still staring attentively on the ball of her toes. She hasn't even met her eyes yet, as if dodging Rachel with a sense of fear. Quinn wasn't even this confusing when they first met, a coffee in her hand and a shy smile plastered to her face. It was all a bit too different now, too uncontrollably changing.

"Why don't you hang out with anyone anymore?"

"Huh?" Quinn doesn't glance at her, "Ten!" She shouts with the rest of the bar, and then her eyes are back at Rachel, "Oh. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Nine!" Quinn cracks a grin, she shrugs, eyes back to the TV, "You know, things happen. People- Eight!"

"People…" Rachel slurs out, never glancing at the television. "People what?"

"Seven!" Quinn glances from the TV again, "People drift apart. Come on Rachel, you know that."

"Well what happened?" Rachel mutters out, drying to pull Quinn's eyes towards her instead of that stupid ball, "What happened to-"

"Six!" The girl takes a sip of her beer, "Nothing- Five!"

"Something must have happened-"

"Four!"

"Why don't' you guys come into the café anymore?"

"Three!" Quinn gives her a glance, "Because we just don't."

"But why?"

"Two! People change Rachel. Get over it."

"Get over it? How the fuck can I get over it? I haven't seen you in _weeks_ and I just-"

"One!"

"I miss you!" Rachel screams and then-

"Happy New Year!"

It's shouted everywhere, its screamed and awarded for. There are lights beaming. There are sparkles and laughter and clapping- people cheering from every corner of the bar. And while lost in all of the madness, Rachel finally looks at the TV, looks at the people around her and then at Quinn – who to her surprise – is wrapped up into the arms of none other than Puck, who's kissing her with such fever it makes Rachel sick.

* * *

Sam came into the café one day. He seemed restless and Rachel knew something was wrong when he sat at the counter instead of his usual booth. In his hands, he tapped away delightfully at his cellphone, and his jacket with lithered with snow. But once he caught sight of Rachel, drying her hands, his lips perked into a huge smile.

"Coffee for two," He said. Rachel had no costumers and he wasn't with anyone else, so she understood his request immediately.

He spun in his seat as she came around with two coffees and sat beside him, "It's snowing outside like crazy."

Rachel nodded after placing her coffee to her lips. She lightly flicks off some snow from Sam's shoulder and chuckles, "Obviously."

He's rubbing his lips together, jittery really, eyes scanning his gloved fingers, "I really can't stay long."

"Do you have classes? Or-"

"Quinn-" He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, grimacing as if in pain. But Rachel watches his hands stiffen around the coffee mug and when she pulls her gaze back up, Sam is leaning in closer, "Remember when we all went on the Christmas pub crawl?"

Rachel nods slightly.

Sam's searching for the right words, carefully, he continues, "What Quinn forgot to mention to you, was that she made a bet that night. Before you came."

"Oh." Rachel chuckles a bit nervously, "Did you have to cut her hair again?"

Sam's laugh is anything but playful, more forced and choky, "No."

They sit there in a bit of silence, sipping their coffees at unpredictable times. It's not extremely uncomfortable but it certainly wasn't a _good ol' time_. Rachel eyed the door once, got up and began to clean behind the counter. She, of course, was thinking about Quinn the entire time. Glancing at her wrist here and there, cursing herself for ever really removing that series of numbers so simply.

Sam didn't talk for a while, he was content to sit there and sip his coffee and thumb his fingers onto the counter. It wasn't until 30 minutes had passed by that Rachel was leaning across the counter, towards the boy, and giving him a glare, "Why don't you guys come visit this place anymore?" She's crying now, suddenly, her voice is wet, sopping with emotions that continue to pour out without notice, "Is it me? Do you guys hate me now? I really-_ Fuck_ I was really enjoying the bonds we all made with each other and-"

"No Rach," The boys grabs her hands, moves them closer into his grasp, he's leaning so close that his chin could touch her ducking forehead, "It was all Quinn's fault you know?" He's rubbing small circles on her fingers, "She bet against me, and well you see- She lost, like usual."

Rachel glances up, feeling the boy's finger's spread across her cheeks. She doesn't say much but sniffles.

"We all respected the bet and we weren't allowed to come in anymore," he smiled dumbly, "We weren't allowed to see you."

Then suddenly, after moments of silence, Rachel's little whimpers turn to soft chuckles. She's looking at the lights hanging over the counter, and feeling the warmth of Sam's mitten covered hands covering her fingers brings her to near tears.

"What?" Sam keeps repeating with this dumb smile and then he watches as Rachel is rounding the counter and crashing into his arms, she's wrapped up into his coat and sucking in chuckles and half sobs.

"I thought you all hated me."

Sam coos, hugs tighter and laughs into the girl's hair, "How could any of us hate you Rach?" He pulls her back, "We all know Quinn has the biggest crush-" He clasps both hands over his mouth suddenly, and then he's watching Rachel's expression blossom brilliantly before him.

She's jumping now, swirling and curling around the tables, dancing to the music that softly hums over the café.

"I knew it!" She keeps saying. She's repeating it like a mantra and then Sam is dancing with her, twirling her around and clapping for her victory in love. They dance and jump around, calling out accusations over the music. Things like '_Quinn wants to taste some of Rachel's Berries_' and '_Quinn should have never grown out her hair if she was just going to end up a big homo anyway_'. They're laughing, happily, and for once Rachel doesn't have a care in the world.

They both continue their little charade, until they hear the front door bell chime, and while deep in Sam's hug, Rachel locks eyes with Quinn. Quinn, the girl with the model complexion and a brilliant smile that could light up a million cities. But the smile is fading now, its disappearing before them and degrading to a dull, painful, frown.

"Quinn…" But the words fail her. Because she knows what this looks like. And it really wasn't what it looked like. She was leaping into Sam's arms, dancing inside of an empty café, for a reason, for Quinn. She was happy to finally receive Quinn's affections. Even if they weren't received by the reliable source herself, they still meant something, they still had value and worth. Since the moment they met Rachel has done nothing but think, wonder and hope that Quinn would feel a shred of the similar, familiar, feelings of love. She's laughing nervously now, climbing back from Sam's arms and gracing Quinn this weary smile. A smile that screams '_don't go_' and '_stay here_'.

The blond just mutters something and is up the stairs in seconds. Rachel runs after her in impeccable time. Her shirt coming out of the apron as she climbs the stairs, almost slips and falls on the icy path, and then sprints out the door to watch Quinn, from a distance, walk away with her arms wrapped tightly around her frame. She looks like a traveler, bracing the weather with a strong front. There's a white smoky bath trailing behind her, along with a red shimmering scarf, blowing along with the snow and wind.

Rachel knows Quinn is crying.

But she can't bring herself to move, so she stays stranded by the door. Her arms tightly around her body, her teeth chattering and the faint whimper falling from her lips.

* * *

She's late to work today. Only because Rachel was hiding behind a few cars when the whole scene broke out before the little café. There, she saw it, with wide eyes and cold fingertips and Quinn and Sam fought outside of the door.

They were whispering, harshly, roughly towards each other. And while Sam looks distraught, Quinn just looks furious, her face is red and her eyes are glassy and Rachel can't help but think she looks beautiful with every emotion sitting on her face.

"I'm sorry!" Sam cries out, grabbing Quinn's coat sleeve. And she's offended, _how dare he touch her?_ And she's pulling her grip back, giving him this outrageous look. Quinn never looked like such a scared little thing, wrapped into herself as if a shell.

She smacks him, hard, suddenly. Quickly. And all Rachel could do was crouch lower, wince a bit harder.

Then Quinn is crying, and she's staring at the café, and then she's walking away. The same way Rachel last saw her, arms around her torso and head ducked down from behind.

Sam stands there for a while. Before he too gives the café a look of almost reassurance, before stepping off to cross the street and head in the opposite direction.

* * *

"Help me find Quinn," Rachel asks pleadingly, and Santana isn't having any of it. Honestly the girl is so incredible at ignoring that Rachel thought she couldn't hear her the first time so she repeats herself, "Help me find-"

"I heard you the first time. Now leave me alone."

Rachel gives a few of her tables a brief look, huffing a sigh she's been holding in, and then turns back to Santana. The girl is fingers deep in her burger, munching softly and glancing at her plate of fries. "I know about the bet." Rachel says, still trying to catch the girl's gaze.

Santana looks up from her food, finally. But she's still chewing with this less than delightful, dull, look sitting across her face. She just seemed tired, bored of the whole thing.

Rachel continues. "It's complete bullshit you know."

The Latina swallows, takes another bite.

"And you know it is too." Rachel is scanning her, arms folded and eyes attentive, "Why would you be here if you didn't think otherwise?"

Santana chuckles, her guard is blown and then she looks up, "What do you want me to do?"

"I just-" Rachel is still staring, thinking. Her mind is in a million places at once at the moment. She's thinking about her tables, about the bet, about winter and most importantly, about Quinn. "Me and Sam aren't together."

"Quinn certainly thinks you are." Santana spits out, looking back at her plate to shovel some fries in her mouth.

"Well that's only because she walked in on-" Rachel stops herself just as Santana raises her eyebrow in suspicion. "Look I just need to see her. Talk to her."

She waits for Santana's reply. And then suddenly Brittany is talking. She didn't even notice the girl was there for a few seconds and suddenly her ear is getting mouthed off. Rachel's nodding and humming to all of the blonde's accusations and topics, but she continues to eye Santana wearily once or twice. The girl is just chewing her food and giving Brittany this more than interesting stare.

Then, Rachel just can't take it anymore, she's confused and hungry for answers. Just as Brittany stops talking for a sip of her coffee, Rachel asks, "Are Puck and Quinn dating?"

And then both girls laugh. Which only confirms her answer.

"They did like for a week," Santana is practically choking on her food, she's pounding her fist on her chest and leaning forwards in order to swallow a bit easier. Really the whole thing is a bit dangerous, so Rachel begins patting her back softly.

"But they broke up on New Years." Brittany says, grinning, placing her coffee down carefully.

Rachel can hardly believe it. She had seen, not five days ago, prior to New Years, Quinn and Puck sucking face at one of her favorite bars. The girl's expression must read absolute shock because Santana and Brittany are already back to their food and coffees, ignoring their waitress perfectly. Maybe they're doing it to get a rise out of her, or maybe to dismiss anymore deeper questions.

"She doesn't hate you, y'know," Santana says suddenly. She gives Rachel a look of hope, "Quinn likes you a lot."

"I know."

The girl drinks her coffee, "Just give her time. She'll come around. Quinn always comes around."

"Ladies."

Puck presents himself accordingly. He's smiling that wide grin and eyeing the hell out of Rachel. He's searching her eyes, a bit timidly really, biting his lip as he does so.

"Puckerman." Santana nods towards him as he sits next to her.

"I see we're not following the bet," He begins, finally looking away from Rachel to eat some of the fries in front of him. "Naughty, naughty girls."

"No one is following the bet." Brittany begins, wagging her cup in the air slightly. Rachel notices the gesture and rushed behind the counter, quickly grabbing another mug and a pot full of fresh brewed coffee, she marches over to the table in order to not miss the current conversation.

"Sam broke it first," Santana mutters out between bites, "He came in-"

"Three days ago." Rachel answers, pouring the cup, eyeing Puck gently, "Quinn came that day too."

Puck tenses at the girl's name. It's obvious, because the fry in his hand snaps in half and his eyes widen ever so briefly. He chokes back a fake, horribly written off, laugh and leans over to Santana, "Ya'll can't follow a bet."

Brittany grins, leaning towards her coffee. The girl was always pleasant, Rachel noted. Always kind, really. She never did frown, not even towards bad news. Brittany was just wonderfully optimistic, or horribly dumb. Everyone went with the flow when it came to Brittany's strange behavior, so Rachel never tried to question it. "We all knew Quinn wouldn't be able to do it." She sips her coffee gingerly, curling the mug in her hands, "She likes Rachel too much."

And then two blue eyes are on the waitress, listening intensely towards the table, with a half empty coffee pot in her hands. She jumps briefly, fluttering her eyelashes down to look at Puck, who's gritting his teeth and chomping on Santana's fries like they were made of lead. "Can I get you anything Noah?"

The boy wags his head and then without any more desires left, Rachel leaves. She's at her other tables, never once glancing at the booth in the corner. It's calling to her really, begging her to take a peek. She wants to desperately know what they're talking about. She wants to know where Quinn is. She wants to know why Puck and Quinn broke up. She wants to know what the bet is and why Quinn would ever make such a stupid bet to begin with.

Suddenly Brittany is at the counter, deep in her crossed arms and pulling this adorable smile, Rachel stops briefly to give her a little grin and then she girl says, "They wont tell you what the bet was." She's talking about Puck and Santana, "They think Quinn won't want you to know. And maybe that's true."

Rachel gives the booth a quick little look, and then she's hunched low, close to Brittany so they could whisper properly. "What was the bet?"

"If you kissed Quinn at the pub crawl, we could continue to come back to the café and hang out with you."

The waitress' smile fades, spectacularly; "Quinn kissed my cheek that night though."

Brittany smiles, "Doesn't count."

Rachel's toying with her lips now, tonging them slightly, while deep in thought. She continues to stare at the booth, and then her eyes are back to the girl before her, "What else?"

The girl hums softly, moving back in her seat to get a good look at her table, "Santana thinks Quinn has a gambling problem. Y'know with the whole betting thing."

Rachel chuckles softly at the strange accusation, but continues to listen eagerly, "Me too."

"She thinks Quinn does it on purpose. Kinda like the bet forces her to do things she would _never _do."

She's scoffing lightly, eyeing the line of mugs below the counter, biting her lip heavily, "Maybe that kind of thinking is why Puck broke up with her."

"Maybe."

Rachel's cleaning now, swiping the surface willingly. She does this to maybe clear her thoughts or distract. Her mind is in tunnels now, deep underground. It's spinning and zooming. There's so many questions, and not enough people to answer them. She begins to swipe the entire counter down, and then she's on her knees, fixing the mugs and plates below.

But fearlessly, Rachel suddenly questions, "Why would anyone love a girl like that?" She's angry, a bit daft to the whole love in New York City investment. Her heart hurts. It aches.

Brittany just shrugs. And then leans over to get a better look at her waitress, currently on the floor, cleaning, "Because it's Quinn."

And then Rachel nods. And then suddenly, her head is empty.

* * *

She spotted Quinn hours ago. The girl came by the door several times, all of which stopped abruptly at the entrance and then turned to walk away. She seemed nervous, scared really. Her little hands balled tightly under her jacket sleeves, hat limply on her head covered with fresh specks of white, lips dragged and clutched under her teeth.

"I'm not working today." Rachel says, grinning.

Quinn jumps, the door jingles under her touch and then there's a hand on her heart, "Christ Rachel…"

She moves closer. Because she could barely see Quinn from such a distance. No, Rachel needed to be closer, a bit nearer. They could hold hands in this sort of weather. They could kiss in the snow.

The girl is blushing furiously now, hands deep in her pockets and trying to play it off cool. Her face is hidden behind this look of indifference, and really Rachel finds it incredibly endearing. "How long have you been standing around watching me?" She asks while looking at some cars passing by carefully.

"When you came by the door the…" Rachel blinks upwards, trying to recall, "…First time, I believe."

Quinn licks her lips, "I didn't know if I wanted coffee or not."

Rachel nods, slightly, "Of course."

They stand there flushed in the snow and cold. It all seemed a bit crazy now. All that has happened. It's been weeks, really.

"Where have you been?" Rachel wonders out loud. She sounds weak. Simple and meek, incredibly tired really. She could see herself now, this tiny little thing, putting on a strong front for so long and then finally letting her guard down, when it really mattered and counted, at the last second,

Quinn kicks the snow off of her boots, "Around."

A gulp is taken, "Everyone else has been in…" she's toying with her scarf, shifting it under her fingers softly, "I've been asking them about you."

"What do they say?"

"Your busy."

Quinn nods. They look at each other, but their gazes never meet directly. There's always an inch or two taken off, views a bit more to the left and right. A shuddery breath later, she's walking forwards, close, "Me and Puck aren't together anymore, by the way."

Rachel grins and nods, "I know."

She smiles, bits her lip and stares off past Rachel, maybe looking at the blinking traffic lights, "You and Sam…" She's nervous. Rachel could tell instantly. Because the girl was shuffling, fluttering her eyelashes, blinking wildly. And then her face is stern, brink with determination, "I will support you and Sam no matter what Rachel."

The girl stiffens immediately. Never once imagining this conversation to go in such an opposite way, Rachel listens curiously, but hides behind her scarf.

"And-" Quinn squints, hard, "If you really love each other-" Her eyes are wet when she opens them, glassy and glistening with such a sour reaction, "God I love the both if you. You know that. I don't know what I would do without you both and-"

"Quinn?"

The girl freezes, catching her balance. "I'm just happy for you." She's smiling this big sad grin, and is splits Rachel's heart in two.

"We aren't dating, Quinn." Rachel moves close, "Me and Sam were never dating."

She huffs out, probably, a breath of relief. But her eyebrows are scrunched close, "So that day- Well in the café, I saw you…"

"We were celebrating actually," Rachel grins wearily, chuckling softly at the truth, "He told me something _amazing _and I just-" She grinned, "I was so happy I hugged him."

"I thought…" Quinn's laughing now, blowing out a sharp breath. Suddenly her giggles are interrupted abruptly with a shuddering sigh, "Oh god I have to apologize to Sam."

Rachel's laughing now and Quinn staring at her with the warmest eyes. It was all a bit anticlimactic really. Santana seemed to have been right all along. They just needed time. They could never go for long with out each other: Rachel knew this now, so suddenly.

"Let's go," Quinn says, spinning on her heel and walking away. Rachel doesn't ask where they're going, or why they're going anywhere. It really didn't matter much. But then they arrived at an apartment building, and they're riding the elevator up. And while Quinn knocks at a particular door, Rachel is in the background, curious to see who would answer.

And then there's Sam. He's in a pair of boxers, no shirt on, a look of puzzlement written across his features.

"It's midnight," he says, sleepily.

Quinn just lunges and hugs him, he could have been naked for all she cared. "I missed you," She rasps out, thick in his skin, practically welding into him. "I missed you so much, Sam."

The boy is still confused, but now smiling, hugging her back. They all shuffle into his apartment, and while ignoring his roommates they all decide to get drunk in his bedroom.

While passing the bottle of whiskey over, Rachel grins at Sam, who is completely plastered and rapping out stories of Quinn like never before. The blond is sitting against the open window, smoking, delightfully listening with nothing short of a smile on her lips.

They drank until the bottle was empty. Quinn the entire time, smoked about a pack of cigarettes, danced with Sam and started having in depth conversations with the local roommates. Rachel on the other hand just watched, from afar, as both blondes skipped and frolicked about with enough booze in them to knock out a horse. It was all strangely euphoric. The music booming in the apartment, the whiskey bottle was kicked around, Quinn, hung loosely on Rachel's shoulders with a look of lax on her face, and everything was simply perfect.

"You should be a model." Rachel said once more. And Quinn nodded justly.

"I tried out to be a model," She gulped slowly, her eyes blinking before seeing the brunette little thing deep in her grasp. "Too short."

"Your too short?"

"You need to be- _Fuck_ you need to be like a tower to be a model." Quinn pulled Rachel close, "I'm not a tower. I'm like a shed."

Rachel's scanned the girl before her, withered by her side, snug in the sheets beside her. There was something about Quinn she would, probably, never place correctly. The girl was special. Incredibly magical. And then Rachel tapped the girl's cheeks lightly to keep her awake a bit longer, "You know what they didn't say though?" She smiles and Quinn cracks an eye open and hums.

Very softly, carefully, they brush lips. It wasn't a kiss. No. They just warmed each other with some necessary touching. The muscles in their lips never moved, but there was still an electric vibe.

"They never said you weren't pretty enough." Rachel finishes. Quinn smiled before falling asleep.

* * *

Puck comes in one day. Alone. And orders a burger. Which is strange for both Rachel and her notepad, because Puck never orders food and Puck has never tried to strike up a conversation with the waitress, until that one very special day.

She knew something was going to happen. She felt it in her bones. She felt it in his longing stare. She felt it the moment he was first introduced into her life.

There was some sort of resentment there. Jealousy.

"Noah."

The boy chuckles, pulling his new mug closer to get some of the steam blowing in his face, "Rach, I told you to call me Puck."

She bashfully nods, "Right."

"Short for Puckerman." He shrugs, "You could also call me the Puckster. Pucker-T. Puckington. Pu-"

"Would you like to order anything, Puck?" Rachel interrupts while flipping out her book. She would do anything to maybe run away from the conversation that was begging to be brought before her. It was welcoming her with open arms, but she would much rather run away and never look back.

"A burger." He mumbles out, his smile fading, "And then you can sit."

Rachel doesn't say her excuse before looking, and then – even the café is against her- - her entire section is empty. She searches a bit longer and then Puck speaks again, "I came in at a time when I knew you wouldn't be busy." He sips his coffee, "I've been wanting to talk for a while now. Thought today would be the perfect opportunity."

She raises him an eyebrow, "Is that why the gang isn't with you?"

He grins, but his words are venom, "Don't act like you're a part of _us_." And then he sips his coffee and Rachel is running into the kitchen to maybe cry or take deep calming breaths.

To be brilliantly honest, Puck scared Rachel. And now having to deal with him, when she knew he had some sort of territorial problems with her, alone, was making her sweat more than ever before. She doesn't climb out of the kitchen until she brings out his food and when he takes his feet off of the booth in front of him, Rachel knows that's her invitation to sit. So she sits.

They don't speak for a while, the tension is so thick Puck couldn't even cut it with his steak knife. She's watching him bite into his sopping, rare cooked, burger. And she's gulping, because she can't stop imagining Puck biting into her and making her bleed the same hamburger meat blood.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you know," He says suddenly, cramming his mouth with more food.

She stops her fidgeting and finally glances at him, "I can't help but get the nagging feeling you dislike me Noah."

The boy chews, finally swallows and belts out a laugh, "Fuck yah I do."

His laughter is a bit confusing. Hatred isn't something to take lightly, but Puck seems to find the whole problem a bit too enjoyable, which causes Rachel's annoyance to spike up.

"Why?" She spits out, "What did I ever do to you?"

He's staring at her, as he sips his coffee and then swallows. He puffs out his cheeks, flicking some spare meet into his mouth, with a few crude gestures of the mouth and then swallows again, "Christ isn't it obvious?"

Rachel shrugs.

He rubs his jaw and smiles, "You stole my girl."

"I-" Rachel can't help but choke back a little laugh, "What girl?"

"Quinn." He says suddenly, thickly and stiffly. His arms tense up as he says her name, his neck muscles jolt out and his eyes widen with nothing more but complete fear. Puck shifts in his seat some more and bites his burger down to the last piece. Rachel watches him the whole time, with wide, undiscerning eyes, before Puck starts again, after swallowing the whole thing whole, "She dumped me."

It should be a shocker. It should make Rachel gasp. Or maybe smack her into her senses. But she just shrugs and replies, "I don't see why that's my fault."

And then Puck chuckles wearily, scratches his jaw and says, "Neither do I."

They sit there in a short comfortable silence, before Puck flicks a five at the table, gets up and walks out to pay his check.

But before leaving he gives Rachel this tiny little glance. A hopeful eye of endearment maybe.

As if to say, "_I trust you_".

As if to say, "_I forgive you_".

As if to say, "_It was really never anyone's fault_".

And then Rachel went into the back room and cried.

* * *

"So are you two fucking yet or what?" Santana howls out. She screams her accusation so loud, that a few tables turn their heads and stifle small giggles from afar.

Both girls growl, literally growl, at the Latina before them.

"Do you have to be so outrageous?" Quinn hushes out, ducking low to sip her coffee. It was still incredibly early to even take a dose of Santana without her morning pick-me-up to help along the way. There was no classes this early, so everyone decided to start early at the local café. "I mean seriously Santana, your rude."

"You love me." She points out, scrambling some eggs into her mouth eagerly.

"Some of us do," Sam says stiffly, trying to push the girl's elbows away from his personal space. But it was all useless really. When Santana ate, Santana ate. Which meant hunched shoulders, dark intense eyes, fork and knife in both hands and elbows out. It was almost like watching an animal eat its meal in the wild. Santana was a lion. A big ferocious pussy.

"Don't be a dick Sam," She says simply. And then everyone is quiet.

Rachel walks away quickly, desperate to remove the images Santana had provoked with her question. Images concerning Quinn, naked, sprawled out on her bed. She hides her blush while ringing up their check eagerly. And then Rachel wonders why the blond hasn't made a move yet. They were better then ever really. Nothing was awkward. Yet nothing has really happened.

And then suddenly, she's walking over to the booth, she's gripping her notepad so tightly its bending and she's inches away from a now blushing Quinn.

"The night you saw me and Sam hugging-" She starts off splendidly. At the sound of her voice, Sam is up, attentively seeking her reasoning out with both eyebrows up. Even Santana, nose deep in some eggs is peering past her fork to figure Rachel out with a suggestive little hum. But her eyes aren't even on them. They're on Quinn. "Remember I told you that Sam told me some_ amazing_ news?"

The boy jolts suddenly, banging his thigh on the table to maybe clasp a hand over his waitress' mouth. His plan fails perfectly, as he sits back down and rubs his aching leg. Santana passes him a gaze, and then she checks to see Quinn nod, eagerly. "What-"

"He told me you liked me."

The booth grows silent.

"That you_ really_ like me."

Santana breaks the silence first with a firm punch to Sam's arm, "Nice going moron."

"No," Rachel checks everyone's face, "I'm not upset about it. Really."

"I'm sorry," Quinn hushes out, and then she's up and out of the booth in seconds. Making her way up the stairs and out of the door, Rachel follows behind her, jacket in hand, expression of fear written on her features. She doesn't even hear what Sam and Santana begin to feverishly hush about. It doesn't even matter anyway.

She doesn't call out Quinn's name because the girl is already outside, thick in the snow, without a jacket. One look at that beautiful face and Rachel could already tell she was regretting her quick getaway.

"Smooth," Rachel says, trying to cool their heads.

"You weren't supposed to find out that way." Quinn spits out, grabbing the jacket forcefully and tugging it on. She begins to walk, suddenly, hands in her pockets and head down towards the ground.

"Well what other way was I supposed to find out?" Rachel says, stopping Quinn with a strong arm.

She pulls away, "Just not_ that_ way." Quinn brushes her bangs back, looking anywhere else but at the girl before her, covered with the fleeting snow. "I'm so embarrassed."

Rachel is watching, ideally, the girl she has been crushing on for about three months, shuffle and push her palms into her eyes before her. The only description of Quinn at that moment could have only been: Cute. The snow, blazing by, made the whole moment so much more rugged and wild though. It wasn't a calming experience. It wasn't a deep one either. And then she's wiping out her wrist, and pulling out her pen and jutting them forwards into Quinn's hazy vision, "I want_ you_ to write your number this time."

The girl flushes.

"I know why Sam put your number on my wrist." Rachel's calling out, past the slapping noises of cars running over slush, and the wind guzzling by, "You _asked _him too."

Quinn just bits her lip, never moving an inch in the dire weather. "Do you also know how I knew you wanted to be in Broadway?"

Rachel smiles and shakes her head lightly.

There's a shaky little intake of breath, and then, "It took me three months to go to where you work, you know that?" Quinn is shuffling, staring at the wrist briefly, before flicking those hazel eyes upwards to lock perfectly, "I wanted to know everything about you. So I asked around."

Rachel just nodded.

"I think love at first site is real too," she's crying out past the noises. The New York City noises that threaten scenes like these, that pass every once and a while. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you since I saw you walking into that café one day," she points sloppily at the building, "And I made a bet with Sam to see if I should go in or not."

The girl still has her arm out, the pen still in hand, she asked comfortably, loudly, "Did you win?"

Quinn takes a moment, a slight chuckle on her tongue. Very carefully, she pulls the cap off of the pen, twists Rachel's arm softly and begins to write down her numbers right over the purple veins. "I lost." She says.

Then, very timidly, they hold hands briefly, awkwardly, their palms curling upwards, fingers lacing softly. Even though the uncomfortable strain on their wrists, the moment was something special. They were comforted by the feel of the skin wrapped tightly around their muscles and bones and veins, the warmth was infectious, a disease of comfort.

"Did you want to win?" Rachel hushes out. She doesn't need to speak any louder, they're already so incredibly close.

"We all know Sam always wins." Quinn clarifies.

Rachel remembers what Santana said a while back. About Quinn using bets to her advantage. Maybe the girl always lost for a reason. Maybe it was just some sort of game against herself, to see what she would and wouldn't do. And the whole idea of Quinn losing on purpose, just to drive past the nerves and fears to see Rachel, sort of made the girl lean a bit closer, and pull on those hands a bit more desperately.

And then they kissed. Very excitingly. Through the harsh cold and ice, Rachel had never felt so safe. The jacket was wrapped around her suddenly, two strong arms pulled her close and the heat emanating from the lips on hers couldn't have been any hotter. Rachel's hands lay limply on Quinn's hips, and she twists her head perfectly, to apply just the right amount of pressure. It deepens suddenly, and then Quinn is pulling back and licking her lips and never giving Rachel a chance to see her blushing cheeks as she pulls the girl into a deep hug. There's a strong hand on the back of her head, curling her hair under harsh fingers, the scent of vanilla swirling into her nostrils. A warm, thick breath is heaved into her neck and Rachel couldn't feel anymore alive.

They stood there, for what seemed like hours, wrapped in Quinn's jacket, kissing here and there and comfortably sighing in the snow and cold. The coat barely covered them both, but yet, it felt so incredibly intimate that nothing else even mattered.

"Call me sometime." Quinn mutters through a soft chuckle.

And all Rachel could do was nod, pull the girl in for a kiss, and feel the numbers burning her wrist, delightfully.

* * *

"So do we get a discount if one of our friends is dating an employee?" Santana rasps out to the host, and then she spots Rachel and is brushed aside by Brittany who's waving from the bottom of the stairs. They're not in huge winter coats for once. And then Rachel suddenly realizes it's getting a bit warmer.

"The usual booth," Sam pipes up, from behind Brittany, pointing at the far table by the counter. And then he's walking, hands in his pockets, eyes lazy and confident.

Just as he sits, Brittany is already in the booth before him. Santana sits besides her and then they all look towards Rachel for some coffees.

"No you do not get discounts," Rachel answers Santana's question, just as she places the mugs down.

"Does Quinn get a discount?"

The girl huffs a breath, "No."

"Well what does Quinn get?"

"A whole lot of storage room sex." Puck mumbles out, he's standing there, with a look of what could be pride on his face. He's eyeing Rachel, sizing her up before roughing up her hair and pulling a chair close to the table, "Right?"

The blush on Rachel's face says it all and then she's gone to retrieve another cup.

"You cool with them fucking around now Puck?" Santana mumbles out, making sure Rachel couldn't hear her.

The boy scratches his Mohawk, "It's whatever," he grins, "They're actually sweet together."

"_Wow_ Puck," Sam leans close, pushing out a thick laugh, "Didn't know you could be such a softy."

"Oh shut it."

"Well now we must have Rachel a part of the group," Brittany says, smiling wide, "No one can object."

"Thank god," Sam boasted.

"I don't know," Puck wearily glances at the waitress, "She might need to pass a few_ tests_."

"What kind of tests?" Brittany pips up.

"Endurance tests," Santana suggests, smiling viciously, "Like how much alcohol she can take."

"How she is in bed."

"What she looks like when she's not in that fucking uniform."

"And lastly, if the curtains match the drapes."

Suddenly, there's a little yelp of joy from behind the booth.

The entire crew turns to see Rachel, deep in Quinn's hug, from behind the counter. They're positively enamored, brushed up against the countertop, hugging and whispering in each other's ears. They seem made for each other, suddenly, wrapped in their arms and smiles.

"Get a room!" Santana calls out, "And then get me a burger!"

"I think it's sweet." Brittany coos, holding her girlfriend close.

"I think it's perfect wanking material," Puck hushes, leaning in close and pushing a stray chair aside to get a better look.

Sam's then up, covering the boy's eyes and yelling at him about decency, while glancing at the girls frequently from afar.

While Quinn shied away from the girl, biting her lip and laughing softly against her lips, Rachel just nuzzled close and ignored her tables. There was something good in the air. A positive energy change, she could feel it swarming around her. The sudden improvement all started about four months ago when walking up beside a table and seeing Quinn for the first time. It was a life changer, that day, that special, particular day.

You could say that the heart of Quinn Fabray was Rachel Berry's first, big time achievement. The sort of victory she had been thoroughly searching for since the beginning of her NYC days.

She received an award for all her efforts. And it hasn't even been two years yet.

Rachel hastily pulls her girlfriend along towards the table and then flips her notepad out, pen poised to write, "May I take your order?" She asks pleasantly.

Everyone just tosses her a grin. And then Quinn asks for the usual.


End file.
